The moment Grace tips her head down, the yellow eyes narrow. There's a little pause, just a moment. It comes and goes, easy as a wave cresting over a beach and Delta pops the cork off his knife's tip, letting it fall onto the blanket.

There's an odd undercurrent to the tension between them though, something obstinate and edged as he holsters his knife. He pours the wine into the proffered cups with a practiced motion but it's colored with something just a little like challenge.